


A Touch of Cinnamon

by perfumeofsighs



Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Complete, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fancy Lingerie, Gratuitous Smut, Hotel Sex, Light Choking, Miguel can be very persuasive, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Safer Sex, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, okay there's a little bit of plot but barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfumeofsighs/pseuds/perfumeofsighs
Summary: Cafe owner Maya's regular customer is none other than Miguel Galindo. Reeling from a messy divorce, he suggests an arrangement with Maya where he'd like a little more than just coffee.(I gave the character a name because I can't write Y/N fics, however the intention is the same so if you want to change her name when you read, you can) Enjoy!
Relationships: Miguel Galindo/Reader, miguel galindo/original female character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The world is crazy right now and I have writer's block so I wanted to post a shorter piece, unrelated to my longer WIP. After being reminded of how good Miguel looks in those sunglasses, how could I not?
> 
> **Thanks to Mackey for beta'ing!

Gif credit: ([1](https://shadesalvarez.tumblr.com/post/621037910514450432))

The first time the fleet of black SUVs pulls in front of my little coffee shop, I wonder if a senator is in town. But that makes no sense. Politicians rarely stop for a photo op in this neighborhood, and the only other reason for a pit stop here involves….well, more under the table discretions. So imagine my surprise when a man in a sleek white suit and sunglasses steps through my front door flanked by bodyguards. He’s not a politician, but he definitely has power.  
  


He adjusts his jacket and nods to his right hand man, who walks over to a table of patrons. 

  
“Sorry, folks. But the cafe’s closed now.” 

  
They begin to argue with him, but this bodyguard with his two neat plaits of boxer braids subtly brushes the gun in his holster and my customers quickly gather their things and go. As they scurry towards the door, they greet the mysterious man in the suit. I could tell from their forced politeness that he was someone to fear. 

  
“Señor Galindo,” they say curtly. 

  
“Hello. Apologies for cutting your meal short,” he flashes an election winning smile. 

  
“Lunch is on me today. Nestor, would you please take care of their bill?”

  
Nestor reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a wad of hundred dollar bills. 

  
“This should take care of it,” he says as he hands me the cash. I stare at the bundle of crisp bills. I never handled this much money at once. 

  
“And Mr. Galindo would like to eat here today. Could we get a menu?”

* * *

Miguel Galindo begins coming into my establishment several times a week for breakfast, and I open the cafe to the public later to accommodate his schedule. He shows up in an expensive suit, and sunglasses that he doesn’t take off indoors. He rarely stays longer than half an hour so I don’t think much of it. Sometimes he brings all his bodyguards, and other times just Nestor, who usually stands at the side of the door while his employer takes his meal. Miguel doesn’t speak much, but he isn’t rude either. 

  
Yes. Please. Thank you. And he always leaves a generous tip. 

  
After that initial encounter, I googled him and learned a little bit about this Ivy League son of the cartel turned real estate developer. His photo is splashed across the headlines with enough ribbon cuttings and public relations fluff pieces that I know the cartel business isn’t that far behind him. He is often seen in the photos with his arm around his wife Emily, smiling and waving for the cameras.

  
Today, however, when the little bell of the door jingles, Miguel folds and puts his sunglasses in his jacket pocket before taking his usual seat by a shaded window. By now I know what he wants to eat and have it prepared before he arrives. He dips the toast points into his soft boiled egg while I prepare his espresso. This is the first time I get a good look at his face. His angular jaw is set with about a week old beard, hastily trimmed. His eyes look weary. 

  
“Is this why you always leave your sunglasses on?” I joke over the whirl of the espresso machine. 

  
I bring his coffee to him, and Miguel stirs the point in the yolk of his egg till it gets soggy. He glances up at me while I set the cup down with today’s paper. “Hmm?” He responds absentmindedly. 

  
Although they were bloodshot and tired, his deep brown eyes softened when I addressed him.

  
“You look exhausted.” This is the most I’ve said to the man since he started coming to eat here.

  
I catch myself staring into those eyes and blush reflexively. Usually everything about Miguel is precise and the intensity of his manner commands the room, but today his shoulders are slightly slumped, as if he’s just been carrying the weight of the world. He looks like he spent the night sleeping in this expensive Armani suit. Despite this, it dawned on me though that it isn’t a good idea to joke with the head of a cartel, no matter how wounded he may appear.

  
“Well then I hope you made this a double,” he sips from his cup and holds my gaze for a moment too long. I wring the hem of my apron and start to leave. 

  
“Sit,” he instructs. “I could use the company.”

  
“I should get back to work.”

  
Miguel’s eyes dance around the empty cafe. “Why? We’re the only ones here?” He questions my terrible excuse.

  
I point at Nestor. “What about him?”

  
“Nestor-” Miguel calls, keeping his gaze on me. “You want to order anything?”

  
“I’m good, boss.” Nestor responds over his shoulder, his attention focused on the street. 

  
“See? He’s good. So sit.” Miguel is used to having his way, so arguing is futile. I take the empty seat across from him and catch a whiff of his expensive cologne applied a little heavier this morning to mask the alcohol on his breath. That explains his chattier demeanor. 

  
He empties a packet of sugar into his espresso and stirs. 

  
“I like the coffee here. What do you put in it?”

  
“It’s a secret,” I reply. 

  
“Let me guess,” he says, elbows on the table with the cup to his lips. “Is it heroin?” He grins cheekily. 

  
I chuckle and clear my throat. “No…” _Well, the man has a sense of humor._

  
“Do you know who I am?” He asks pointedly.

  
“Everyone knows who you are Mr. Galindo.”

  
“Miguel,” he corrects me. “Please, I come here so often we should be on a first name basis, don’t you think?” He motions me to fill in the blank and I do.

  
“Maya,” he says my name slowly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  
I smile and get up. I sense that Miguel is being a little flirtatious now, and I am not in the habit of chatting up married men. “I really do have to get back to work.”

  
The corners of his mouth lift and he allows me to leave, but first grabs me lightly by the wrist.

  
“Hang on Maya... Am I nice to meet?” 

  
Perhaps it is the sparkle in his eyes, or the commanding timbre of his voice that sends slow shivers through my body. To Miguel, it isn’t so much a question as it feels like an order to which there is only one appropriate answer. 

  
I squeak out an affirmative, but the growing wetness between my legs leads me to believe I mean it. 

  
I’ve pleased him, but his response is clipped. “Good. I hope we can be friends.” 

  
He finishes his breakfast in silence. The quiet tension in the air is broken by the soft rustle of Miguel’s newspaper. I set out the pastries for the opening rush, and wipe down the counters, all the while observing Miguel from the corner of my eye. He sits up straighter, and appears reenergized. He settles the bill and gets up to leave, smoothing out the wrinkles of his jacket and pulling out his sunglasses again. 

  
“I’ll get you to tell me what’s in that coffee someday, Maya. Thank you for a lovely meal.” 

  
Nestor holds the door for him and they both depart.

  
When I go to clear his table, I find he’s tucked the check, a sizable tip, and his cell number scribbled on the back of a business card in the society pages of the paper. 

The lead story today is: “Miguel and Emily Galindo Finalize Divorce”.

* * *

For the rest of the day I turn the card over and over in my hand so much I’ve worn down the edges. I have examined the elegant cream cardstock and block font so much that his name and number drills a psychic hole in my head. Do I call him? What is he expecting? There is no doubt Miguel is incredibly attractive. A lot of men flaunt and throw their money around to hide their shortcomings, but Miguel carries himself with the attitude and stride to back up his assertions of power. That level of confidence is addictively alluring. 

  
But to get mixed up with someone of his status could have dangerous outcomes, and I do not want to be someone’s rebound fling. I tuck the card into the pocket of my apron and decide not to do anything hasty. 

  
A few days later, Miguel arrives for breakfast a several minutes earlier than usual. This time he makes Nestor wait outside, and he enters the cafe alone.

  
“Miguel, you’re early.”  
  
  
He removes his jacket and tosses it over a high chair. Taking off his sunglasses, he stares at them in his hand, and addresses me accusingly.

  
“You didn’t call. I’m disappointed.” He is wounded. 

  
“I’m flattered, but you caught me off guard. And you just got divorced,” I go through the routine of starting the espresso machine. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

  
“Emily and I have been separated a long time. We finally settled on a custody arrangement for our son that works for me. The fact of the matter is she betrayed me… and if she wasn’t the mother of my child…” He trails off, momentarily forgetting that on the surface he is a successful real estate tycoon and not a dangerous drug trafficker.

  
“Isn’t that all the more reason not to jump into anything so quickly?” I ask, flustered. “Do you still want breakfast? I can whip up your order quickly--” I spin around and set down his espresso to find Miguel leaning over the dinette. He pushes the drink aside. 

  
“Do you believe in loyalty, Maya?”

  
I nod in agreement as I stare into his dark eyes

  
“I know my reputation precedes me. Despite this, I have been loyal to my wife for fifteen years. And after fifteen years, she broke our bonds of marriage. It’s taken some time to begin healing, and frankly I think I’d like to heal by fucking you. ”

  
I almost choke at how forward he is but his intense stare and intention also gets me heated.

  
“You could have any model or socialite this side of California. Why me?” 

  
“Why not? I think you’re a beautiful girl. Besides, models bore me and socialites don’t know how to make espresso.”

  
To this, I have to laugh. He must be joking. “You want to sleep with me because you like my coffee?” I am incredulous.

  
“I’m sure it’s one of many of your other fine attributes,” he says, eyes roaming my body. “Look- I’m not looking for a relationship. But I am looking for companionship.”

  
The insinuation of what companionship entails insults me. 

  
“I’m not a whore.” I retort.

  
“And I wouldn’t treat you like one.” Miguel reaches out to brush a finger down my neck, studying my reaction closely, grinning. “Unless you ask nicely.” 

  
The power he exudes is irresistible. My skin flushes. He leans in further to press his lips to my ear. 

  
“How about a sample, hmm?” He whispers, towering over me, jaw set. “Let me show you how good it can be.”

  
Sex is a drug he peddles too and I find myself nodding as my throat goes dry. Miguel peels away from me momentarily to flip over the open sign on the front door. “Come,” he says, dragging me into the kitchen by the wrist, my skin tingling as we make the quick walk through the back. 

  
I’m surprised by how strong he is as he lifts me onto the counter. Not wasting a moment, he wraps my legs around his waist and presses his warm lips to mine. It catches me off guard and I knock over a bowl, coating the table with a flurry of flour. I pull away to clean it but he drags my arms back and locks them behind his neck. 

  
“Leave it,” he commands, planting a trail of kisses across my cheek till he devours my mouth. 

  
I rake my fingers through his hair which only spurs him forward, and that’s when I feel it. The hardness of his cock brushes along the seam of my jeans and he looks at me knowingly. Shit. I know I’m fucked. 

  
“Mmm feel that?” 

  
“Yeah,” I nod breathlessly.

  
Supple fingers pop the button of my jeans and he removes them. I giggle as he struggles to pull them off over my ballet flats, but a sinister glare silences me, and also causes me to feel hotter and wetter. With one hand, he holds my face to match his gaze as his other slides inside the lace of my panties, finding me wet and wanting. His tongue explores my mouth as two digits slowly enter my pussy. 

  
I throw my head back but his grip is strong. 

  
“No, Maya… you watch me,” he purrs. 

  
So I obey.

  
I watched our bodies connect at the apex between my legs. With every thrust he reaches further inside me, touching parts so deeply I couldn’t find the words to express the sublimity of this intimate act. My throat grows hoarse from chanting his name over the sloppy sound of his fingers pistoning and curling into me with rigor. “Oh fuck…!” He is relentless and I am so close. 

  
“Think how good it could be, hmm?” He teases, feeling me squeeze all around him. “If my fingers make you feel this good, imagine how good my cock will feel creaming inside you?” He pants, licking the shell of my ear.

  
That sets off the spark as I come hard. “Oh my god… fuck…fuck… Miguel.” Suddenly I am in dismay, clutching at his shoulders. I need to have it. I reach down to try to release his dick from his trousers. 

  
“I want your cock, Miguel,” I beg, not recognizing the sound of my own desperation. 

  
Miguel removes his grip from my head to swat away my hand. He peers at me with lust filled eyes as he paints my mouth with the sticky fingers covered in my come. As our eyes lock I lick my lips slowly, savoring myself, which elicits a smile. 

  
I reach for more, and he pulls away. “You only get a taste,” he chastises. 

  
“If you want more you’ll have to be a good girl and call me like I told you,” he says restrained. The wet hand reaches into my apron and he pulls out the card that was burning a hole in my pocket .

  
He wipes his fingers on it, staining the ivory card stock with the wet fingerprints of my juices, sealing a promise. When he leaves I am left gripping the edge of the counter for dear life. 

  
I think I might be sleeping with a cartel boss after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Maya is listening to is "Spell" by NIKI. I highly recommend the album, Zephyr which influenced this fic greatly.

I work the rest of the day on wobbly legs, smiling to myself. That evening I call Miguel and he tells me how happy he is that I want to take up his offer. After what he did this morning, just hearing the sound of his voice fills me with longing.  
  


“I’ll be out of the country on business for a couple of weeks but I’m sending you a present with instructions mi amada. I want to do this right.” 

  
The thought that he already has a pet name for me turns my cheeks pink. Miguel asks me to text my sizes and measurements to him and I wonder what he has in store. 

  
“Your scent still lingers on me,” he breathes over the receiver. 

  
I bite my thumb, and flirt back “Does that turn you on?”

  
He chuckles softly to himself. “Wait and see. Sweet dreams.”

  
The prospect of being with a new lover makes my heart flutter. But when that man happens to be Miguel Galindo, it makes my body buzz with anticipation even more. I won’t be hard on myself for making a potentially poor decision, but he was upfront about his desire for sex and company and nothing else. I tell myself this will make it easy to cut ties when the time comes.

  
When I open the cafe the next day I find one of Miguel’s messengers waiting with a box by the door. 

  
“From Señor Galindo,” he says, handing me a pink box wrapped with a white ribbon. 

  
I take the gift inside and see that it’s from Agent Provocateur. Ripping through the package I find a daring pale pink lingerie set that leaves little to the imagination. It isn’t something I would choose (or could afford) to wear for myself but I don’t think it hurts to please him. An envelope with my name is tucked underneath, and inside I’m surprised to find lab results letting me know he’s clean.  _ Text me yours before we meet _ , he scribbles in the margins, followed by a few x-rated fantasies of what he plans to do to me. Men who plan ahead are fucking hot. He is so responsible and committed to safe sex. 

  
A few of my regulars wander in to pick up some sweet rolls and coffee, and I try to shove the box under the counter.

  
“Que tienes aquí?” My nosy customers say, trying to get a good look. “Oh… I see Maya’s new boyfriend has expensive taste,” they tease. “Who is he? Do we know him?” 

  
A nervous giggle escapes.    


  
“Can’t I buy something nice for myself?” 

  
“Oh honey, no woman wears that for themselves,” they joke. “Whoever he is, I hope he treats you good.”

  
I look forward to finding out.

* * *

Two weeks fly by after I follow Miguel’s instructions, and we make our arrangements to meet for dinner followed by… activities that I imagine will leave me sore for days. His plane landed but he’s running late so I take my time getting ready, lighting a few scented candles and luxuriating in a hot bubble bath listening to [NIKI](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmWRCBiWTPE). I'm getting myself in the mood. 

_  
I know you don't fall and tell  
_ _ But darling I know you too well  
_ _ You don't think that heaven's real  
_ _ So I'll love you 'til it hurts like hell   
  
_

After drying and curling my hair, I put on Miguel’s lingerie, zip myself into a little black dress, and replace my work flats with burgundy pumps. The shoes make my ass look great but hurt like a bitch so I’m glad he’s sending a car for me.

  
When I pull up to the hotel, I find Nestor at the entrance, and he directs me to the bar where he says I should feel free to order whatever I wish.   
  
  
“Why did Miguel want to meet here?” 

  
“This is Mr. Galindo’s hotel. He is staying in the penthouse,” Nestor answers.

  
Wow, luxury hotel sex huh? This should be good. 

  
I make it through half a glass of  Beaujolais when I feel two strong hands on the back of my shoulders.   


  
“Maya.” 

  
How does he make my name sound so criminal? I am melting at his touch and stand up to embrace him. Miguel wraps his arms around me lightly, offering a simple kiss on the cheek before whispering in my ear to inquire what I have on under the dress. 

  
I promise him I’m wearing the ensemble he’s chosen but “Pink isn’t really my color,” I say.    
  
  
“It’s the same color as your cheeks,” he replies. His hands move lower and lower before he discreetly squeezes the curve of my ass. “I’m going to make it a few shades of pink here too.”    
  
  
Jesus Christ, we will never make it to dinner. 

  
“Did you wait long?”

  
I shake my head, as we walk into the restaurant. “I know you said you weren’t going to treat me like a whore, but waiting for you at a hotel bar sort of makes me feel like a fancy hooker,” I joke.

  
Even though he tries to keep up the serious facade, the corners of his mouth turn up in a quiet smile. 

  
He and I sit side by side in a booth chatting by candlelight, enjoying our meal. The restaurant is bustling, and a few of Santo Padre’s elite come by to pay their respects to Miguel. I see the judges and councilmen eye us from afar, speaking in hushed tones. _Who’s Galindo’s new girl?_ In between courses, he puts an arm across the back of the banquette, watching me intently, and I rest my hand on his thigh. I feel the heat of him through the wool silk of his gray slacks, and snake a little closer between his legs. He pulls my hand up and kisses all my fingers. 

  
“We’ll get to that,” he admonishes. He has an image to uphold and couldn’t very well get an under the table handjob in public. 

  
We drink glasses of hundred dollar wine, and I discover I could get used to the wine-ing and dining portion of our agreement. Tonight Miguel is sweet and attentive and wants to know more about me like how I came to run a little cafe in Santo Padre. 

  
Corporate burnout is real. I moved here to escape the toxic work culture in Silicon Valley. 

  
“I always loved to cook and bake and was really good at it so I bought the cafe and the cozy apartment above with the rest of my savings.” 

  
Reflecting on the decisions that led me here, I say “Now I live a simple, uncomplicated life. Until…”

  
“Until you met me.” 

  
We both consumed our fair share of the expensive vino, and Miguel blinks and grazes my cheek slowly. “I’ll try not to be a complication but I think you’ll find a little bit can be invigorating,” he finishes, touching his lips to mine.

  
After dinner, I teeter on my heels, arm in arm, as we head into the elevator to the penthouse. Alone now, Miguel gets a little handsy, pressing me against the glass. I grip him by the lapels of his suit and pull him down for a searing kiss. 

  
“Do you want me to be nice or rough?” He breathes.

  
I love the dark edge in his voice, as if I have a choice. 

  
He groans and when the elevator door opens we stumble into the foyer of his suite. It’s stunning, like an extension of Miguel- tasteful, modern, and masculine. He wraps his arms around me from behind and walks me towards the bedroom. I stand before him as he sits on a white upholstered bench at the edge of the king size bed, legs spread. 

  
“Take off your dress.” He orders, surveying my face for hesitation. 

  
Heart beating fast, I turn and brush my hair over one shoulder, tapping the zipper. His arm reaches up to slowly pull it down till it is low enough for me to undo, and I let the dress fall from my body. 

  
The lingerie he selected for me is a sheer baby pink balconette panty set lined with soft rose velvet, and covered with matching velvet kisses. 

  
His eyes grow dark and wide, and I know I made an impression. He strokes my hips, fingering the sheer panels of the garter. When he lets them snap against my skin, I hiss.    


  
Miguel draws a breath. “Incredible.” He gets up to mold his hands to my tits, squeezing them through the thin fabric. 

  
I love the way the cropped hairs of Miguel’s beard rakes and burns across my neck and chest when he kisses me. I stroke his arms, reveling in their strength as they hold me up. He peels off his jacket, and throws it on the bed. 

  
Turning away, he grabs a small pillow, and tosses it in front of me on the floor. 

  
“You still want my cock, Maya?” He asks, brushing his hand up and down the front of his trousers. 

  
I nod.

  
“Get on your knees,” he says softly, unbuckling his Ferragamo belt. 

  
Slowly, I begin to kneel. I want to be good and I want to be obedient. My hands take their time traveling up his thighs, and I push the buckle to the side and unzip him. 

  
I stroke Miguel, guarded and focused on his reactions. Is this how he likes it? He pushes into my palms, urging me on. 

  
“Yes, that’s good. In your mouth now, mi amada,” he rasps. 

  
He pushes my head further till I feel him swelling in the back of my throat, but it is too much. I spit and sputter. It’s okay, we have all night, he reminds me with unexpected gentleness. I lick the underside of the shaft and kiss the tip before taking him again and it’s easier on the second try. Taking a handful of my hair, he begins ravaging my mouth, pushing me onto his cock over and over again till my eyes water. He eases up to let me breathe, and I firmly but gently run my teeth along his length. “Oh that’s perfect,” he sighs. 

  
Miguel is so beautiful from this position, with his head thrown back, a sheen of sweat dripping down the column of his neck. He is a dichotomy of soft and harsh, as if one cannot exist without the other.

  
I feel a rush knowing I made him happy, and try to take him again, but he helps me to my feet instead. He pushes me back onto the bed and takes off my heels, lightly massaging the arches of my feet. 

  
“Let’s take care of you now,” he says, stripping off the rest of his clothes. 

  
I push up onto my elbows to watch him. “Oh yes, Mr. Galindo, give me a show,” I joke. 

  
He wags an eyebrow and pounces, nipping at my mouth and crawling down my body, laying waste to the expensive scraps adorning my body. He finally settles between my thighs. 

  
“This looks pretty on you. Pity I have to take them off.”

  
Miguel unfastens the garter and peels off the panties, casting them aside. He gets onto his knees and examines me sprawled out beneath him.

  
“But you naked like this?” He declares, dipping his tongue into my belly button. “It’s a hundred times better.” 

  
I cat stretch savoring this feeling, his tongue dragging lower till he reaches my pussy. He gets onto his stomach and spreads me open with his fingers, exploring my folds, kissing and licking till I writhe with an unbreaking tension. 

  
“Uh…. right there, yes.” 

  
He sucks my clit and my eyes squeeze shut. Oh, the pleasure he gives me when he alternates between sucking and using the flat of his tongue… Just a little more… I’m so close. His beard rubs around the sensitive skin and my hips undulate into his wet mouth.

  
“I think I’m gonna come.” I announce.

  
He takes his mouth off and watches me intently, biting the soft flesh of my thigh. 

  
“Miguel…” I moan, in needy protest. My pussy is pulsing around nothing now.

  
His expression darkens, and I am on fire, drinking in the potent energy he exudes.

  
“You come when I say so, Maya.” 

  
He climbs on top of me and puts a hand to my throat, gripping slightly. The pad of his thumb grazes the angles of my jaw as if he is polishing the facets of a diamond. He isn’t choking but there is a pressure as he keeps my head still. Logic dictates that I should be scared but I know I am in no danger.

  
“Do you trust me?” 

  
“Mmm hmm.” I nod, holding his wrist. “Please, Miguel, I need you.”

  
He lifts my hips and guides his hard cock inside, sinking slowly. A strangled moan passes my lips when I feel how brutally he’s stretching me out. “Yes… oh… yes….”

  
Miguel fucks me, snapping his hips with a tenacious fortitude. I wrap my legs around his waist and he squeezes my ass, leaving ten red marks from his strong fingers. He smacks the back of my thighs and I yelp. 

  
“Shit… yes…” I cry, gripping onto his forearms.

  
It’s almost too intense. He is unrestrained, fucking me hard and deep. His body is an infinite rolling hill, shattering me from within. He takes a pillow and shoves it under my pelvis giving him an entirely new angle to explore. 

  
“Is this what you need?” He whispers against my neck. He tells me I am beautiful, that I am his.

  
“Uh huh… oh my God” I comb through his dark locks and hold him, lightly scratching the salt and pepper of his beard. It feels so good. 

  
He slows his thrusts, as he reaches between our bodies. A hand hovers above my clit ready at the trigger as his eyes train on me. 

  
“Thank me,” he commands through gritted teeth. “Do you deserve it? Beg me to come.”

  
“Thank you…Miguel... Thank you, thank you...” I babble. “Please let me come.” 

  
“Fuck, Maya... I feel you. Squeeze me…. Yes, just like that. ” He sighs against my shoulder. 

  
He grunts and fucks me, rubbing my clit hard and fast until my eyes roll back. I am shaking and blinking back tears. With one last surge, he empties his seed inside. 

  
I come so hard, filled to the brink as my body trembles beneath him. We are both feverish, sticky and covered in sweat. I can’t explain what just occurred, but there was nothing casual about it. 

  
“Wow.” I finally say, after Miguel pulls out, and we stare at each other, panting. He cups my face and wipes away the smudges of my mascara. His brow is furrowed, expression relaxed and regards me with a gentle reverence. I’m addicted to the look of him in the afterglow.

  
He rolls out of bed and gets me some water and I gulp down half the bottle. 

  
“How do you feel?” He asks. 

  
“Tired.” I stretch my legs and curl up beside him.

  
He settles into the pillows and pulls me close, throwing the covers over us. I love the safe and euphoric feeling of being held in his arms like this. Whatever dangers lurking in Miguel’s world only exist on the periphery. 

  
“Let’s get some rest, hmm?” He murmurs, but I have already drifted off to slumber, entwining his fingers through my own.  
  


* * *

I awake the next morning to the sun streaming through the windows. There is a moment of panic because I do not recognize my surroundings, but the soreness between my legs becomes the first reminder. I reach across the thousand count sheets but can’t find Miguel.

  
I get out of bed and pull on his dress shirt from last night and pad my way through his penthouse to find him dressed and sipping coffee in the kitchen. 

  
“Good morning.” He smiles, handing me a cup. “ You look better in my shirt than I do.”

  
I set the mug on the counter, and wrap my arms around him from behind. 

  
“It’s cinnamon. I put a touch of cinnamon in the espresso, Miguel.” 

  
He puts my hand over his heart and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -FIN-
> 
> What did you think? I had a lot of joy writing this one and I hope you enjoyed it. I hope it was hot but also a little fluffy :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
